


A Stolen Moment

by Roxicodone



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Cloti - Freeform, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxicodone/pseuds/Roxicodone
Summary: Tifa knew she and Cloud should be searching for Aerith...but without Aerith to offer Tifa strength against all those ghosts, she had to rely on Cloud for comfort. And Cloud was doing the best he could...A stolen moment between Tifa and Cloud while wandering the Train Graveyard.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	A Stolen Moment

He must’ve hypnotized her, Tifa thought vaguely, staring unblinking into Cloud’s blazing blue eyes and helpless to do anything but obey its plea—its _command_. Mesmerized by the shifting shades of cobalt and sapphire and electric blues, there was no room for embarrassment and awkwardness as she reached down to flip up her skirt, tucking the bottom into the band, tug her shorts and panties to her ankles, and slip her hand between her legs—where she was hot and wet. Her back arched and she gasped as she found her clit already swollen, pressed two fingers against the nub and circled—just as he’d asked.

Blue eyes grew heavy-lidded and Cloud groaned, head craning nearer but not close enough to touch, his hands fumbling with the fastenings at his waist. She could hear him struggling with buckles and clips, buttons and zippers, but paid his spaulder no mind as it crashed noisily to the ground next to their discarded gloves, and instead watched intently until he’d freed himself hard and glistening into his bare palms. Her mouth went dry before suddenly filling as she watched him pump himself from base to tip, his enclosed fingers twisting as he reached the swollen head before returning to start the same measure over again.

“Will you show me, Tifa?” came his hoarse question. “Will you show me how you touch yourself? Show me, please. Tell me.”

Tifa bit her lip uncertainly but found herself again doing what he asked, her hand instinctively following its routine, using just her forefinger to give her the most control as she stimulated her clit back and forth, pressing hard before tapping, circling and flicking. “I-I do it like this,” she replied shakily, knees trembling. How could she be touching herself so intimately before him and yet have it feel a thousand times better simply because he’d asked her to, simply because he was watching? Still…“But it’s so much better when you’re touching me.”

Like the first—and last—night they’d been intimate just a few nights prior, his hands all over her before they’d coupled hard and rough in her room. She’d ended up hastily sat upon her nightstand, lamp and alarm clock carelessly shoved to the floor, knees pressed to either side of her chest and head knocking a beat against the wall until they’d both come undone.

His hips jerked now, hands quickening as those burning blue eyes followed how her fingers moved against herself. “Ah, gods, I want you, Tifa. I want to touch you. I want to be inside you.”

She nodded, wanting the same thing and knowing they couldn’t. She distracted her wants by keeping her eyes glued to how he worked himself and feeling so extremely jealous of his hands, committing his strokes to memory so that when she next touched him, she would know exactly what he needed.

Back pressed against a crate in the Train Graveyard and knees weak while they touched themselves for each other was not the direction she’d thought things had been headed when he’d taken her in his arms minutes ago. But she’d been frightened of all those ghosts, and without Aerith to grasp hands with, Cloud had been trying his best at comfort—only his kind of comfort had included hot kisses and hands all over her, all the while muttering about how much he’d liked her dress at Corneo’s and asking if she’d chosen it for their abandoned date and how he was sorry-not-sorry that they finally had some privacy because he’d been dying for a taste of her.

While he’d been busy thumbing and pinching her nipples through her top and bra, she’d been hastily struggling to maintain a semblance of practicality—they were supposed to be searching for Aerith!—yet found herself moaning at his attentions, her hands directing his mouth to her breast until he was suckling her nipples through fabric. And it was somewhere in the midst of hot kisses and rising whimpers, her minuscule hold on practicality had managed to ask if he’d had a condom—because he hadn’t that first night, which is how she’d ended up on the nightstand in the first place, as she’d had a box—rashly and hopefully purchased by her after a brow-raising conversation with Marle—shoved in her nightstand drawer.

His groans and curses had filled the air after her question and he’d slowly drawn his busy hands and mouth away—but had seemed to have had trouble releasing her. Instead, he’d clasped her tightly against him, told her how much he needed release but couldn’t, _didn’t_ trust himself to keep touching her without going too far—and had asked if he could touch himself for her…but only if she’d let him watch as she touched herself for _him_ in return.

She’d been ready to deny him no matter her curiosity, fighting her way through the haze of arousal to where her sensibility lay and had opened her mouth to refuse—only to be thoroughly distracted when he’d freed her, stepped back, and palmed himself over his SOLDIER fatigues, groaning her name as he’d done so.

It was just a stolen moment, she’d reasoned with herself, dumbly agreeing with a nod. Her eyes had remained glued to the shape of him that was so clearly outlined through the fabric of his pants, and she let herself be folded back into the fog, eager and willing to agree to anything he might’ve asked of her if only to see more of him.

“I want to see your breasts,” he rasped, bringing her back to the present. His breaths were hot and uneven along her cheek. “Will you show them to me?”

Clumsily, her free hand managed to tug the hem of her shirt and bra far enough to free one breast for him, and she lifted her eyes from his groin to watch his mouth work, the muscle of his tongue wetting his lips.

“Maybe—maybe we can kiss?” she asked, missing the press of his mouth, wanting the taste of him.

He made a desperate noise, beginning to lean forward before giving himself a hard shake and retreating. “Can’t trust myself,” he offered hoarsely in explanation. “Don’t trust myself. But I want to be close…maybe…?” He crowded her again, close enough she was surrounded by the smell of him, and leaned his shoulder against the crate at her side. Curiously, her eyes drifted downward to watch as his hand stilled on cock, his arm from shoulder to elbow braced against the crate before he began to pump his hips into his clenched palm and fingers.

Her fingers slipped their rhythm, coated in moisture, and she felt her insides clench as she imagined his hips and that long, heavy length of him pumping into her instead.

“I want that to be me,” she half-gasped, half-moaned, spreading her legs further to allow herself more access. Her eyes closed briefly in pleasure as she inserted first one, then another finger inside of herself, eyes opening again so that she could time each thrust and withdrawal with those of his hips.

“Soon,” he promised in a tight voice, heavy-lidded eyes shifting from where she touched herself to her exposed breast. His free hand rose as if to cup her breast and she arched her back, urging his hand forward. Thumb and forefinger flexing as if to pinch her pebbled nipple between them, he was but a hairsbreadth away from touching her when his hand jerked, fist clenching as he instead groaned and murmured how much he wanted to be inside of her, hips moving quicker, fist hanging in the space that separated their bodies.

Tifa drew in a deep breath and bit her tongue hard to keep from pleading for him to touch her, aching for any contact with him though she knew her control would snap if he gave her what she so desperately wanted. She kept her focus on the moisture leaking from his swollen cock while fighting to remain on her feet.

His voice was strained when he spoke, moving so near their bangs brushed. “I’m close. Look at me, Tifa. Watch me as I come for you.”

Instinctively, she knew he didn’t mean for her to keep watching his hips and hands, and she lifted her gaze to meet his—and began to drown in all shades of swirling blues, dark and bright, hungry and raw.

He hissed her name, lips drawn back, head tilting forward though he kept his eyes locked on hers. She felt herself tightening inside, locked her knees so as not to collapse in a puddle at his feet and did her best to keep pace with what she could see of his motions—though she was swimming helplessly in the sea of his eyes.

“I’m coming, Tifa,” he exclaimed tightly, muscles strained and eyes sliding shut and her heart pulled taut, mesmerized at the explicit bliss of his expression. Gods, he was so sexy, and to know that she’d done her part to help him look so _finely_ pleased…

Then she was moaning, his hand that had been fisted between them finally, _finally_ cupping her aching breast while his mouth clumsily found hers, knocking their heads together. Tifa pressed herself against him, gripping his shoulder with her free hand and relishing the wet, hot spurts of him that began to coat her bare thigh, running into her socks. He groaned her name, sucking her tongue and thumbing her nipple as he finished bucking against her bare hip.

She found herself still chasing her release, however, and tried her best to voice her encouragement when she felt his hand cover hers between her legs. Her attempt to withdraw her fingers were met with resistance and an amused chuckle, his mouth sliding to her ear to tell her huskily that he only wanted to help, that she would have to finish by herself, just as he had. That he wanted to look into her eyes when she came apart, just as she’d watched him, and know that he was the reason for it, just as she’d been his.

It wouldn’t take very much or long, she was sure, as she was already far past the point of any sensible coherence and now that he was touching her, thumbing her sensitive nipple, guiding her fingers in a steady, building rhythm inside of herself so much better than she’d been doing for herself?

And she was right. She began to lose her rhythm, knees shaking, rising to the cusp of release only to pivot dangerously. He groaned gruff, sexy words to her, telling her how much she’d pleased him, how much he wanted to pleasure her, how he wished he was inside of her when she came apart for him. He gently extracted her fingers from inside, sliding them to rub her swollen, aching clit instead, and as he called himself a liar, told her that he couldn’t simply watch, that he wasn’t only there to help but instead needed to be apart of her release, he replaced her fingers with two of his larger, thicker ones—and she went plummeting over the edge, moaning his name loudly, knees giving up, fingers jerkily circling her clit as he pumped his hand inside of her.

And he watched her the entire time, blue eyes vibrant and gleaming, both bright and dark with satisfaction and pride and arousal. When he leaned in, pressing his mouth to sip the last of her gasps, his kiss was achingly tender while he enfolded her firmly, gently into his arms.


End file.
